


hidden cove

by blackeyedblonde



Series: ✨Babies, Beasties, and Breeding Kink✨ [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Beachy Feels, Bodily Fluids, Breeding, Cervical Penetration, Childbirth, Eggs, Interspecies Romance, M/M, MerMay, Mermaid Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-07-24
Packaged: 2020-03-19 22:12:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18979366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blackeyedblonde/pseuds/blackeyedblonde
Summary: “Tell me how this works,” Hank says. He tries to find the words despite how hard he is, how wild this is. “Will they—are they going to…grow? Even if I’m me and…you’re you?” It’s not the most eloquent or intelligent way of saying things, but Connor seems to understand him all the same.“I don’t know,” he whispers back, raspy voice sounding hopeful and a little bit afraid. “I don’t want to lose them, but they can’t—I can’t let them go until you fill me.” There’s a pause, and then Connor presses his forehead against Hank’s. “I’ve never loved a human before.”That makes Hank see stars even at the peak of day.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> [clears throat] I don't usually write stuff like this, but MerMay took my ass by storm over on twitter and I decided to throw my hat into the fishfucking ring. This also began as a thread, so I'm sorry if the pacing is a little bit wonky. 
> 
> General warning for mermaid sex, bodily fluids, egg laying, and semi-graphic depictions of inaccurate fantasy-based mermaid anatomy. But I mean...it's really romantic and tender, so. Proceed at your own risk lmao.

  
  
Connor hasn’t visited Hank’s little parcel of beach along the cove in over a week now.

Hank’s been keeping an eye out for him as he throws a piece of driftwood for Sumo or repaints the cottage, gaze cast toward the breaking waves as they roll in toward the pebbled coastline. It’s not like this hasn’t happened before—in years past Connor disappeared for weeks at a time, moody and easily agitated, gone off during particular seasons into deeper waters and then coming back smiling within a month, right as rain again.

Hank privately figures it’s the merfolk’s version of rut, but he’s always too shy to ask or broach the subject even if he lays awake at night wondering about it. A strange and fantastical question he'll take to his grave without answers, most likely.

Even so, Hank worries when Connor stays away for too long. He enjoys his privacy here on the hidden cove, just him and Sumo and the speckled shorebirds, but visiting with Connor had always been something special he looked forward to. He's already missing their long, sprawling talks sitting near the rocks, Connor’s stories of the deep and his burning questions about life on land.  
  
Maybe, Hank thinks, he’s been particularly worried this past week because of what happened the last time Connor visited.

His face warms at the memory, neck pleasantly burning under the collar of his cotton shirt. The phantom feeling of Connor’s impossibly soft, salty lips against his mouth keeps him up at night, those webbed hands leaving damp prints on his belly as they kissed. But there was more than that, and this is the part Hank tries not to think about too closely when he’s lying in bed at night with only his right hand for company, listening to the waves crash along the shore outside. Connor had gasped against his mouth, dark eyes blown out black despite the sun overhead, and his body had—well.   
  
The narrow slit there at the scaly base of Connor’s abdomen wasn’t hard to miss if you looked for it but Hank had never taken the initiative to stare too long. But as they’d touched and groped each other there in the soft sand, kissing hungrily, his hand had strayed south to brush the slick scales there and Connor’s body had shuddered and moved almost involuntarily. When Hank looked down, the little hole was open and glistening, faintly contracting like it was inviting him in. He was transfixed by it—amazed and puzzled all at once.

Not quite thinking, he’d tried to run the tip of a forefinger around the outside before Connor pulled back and made a gurgled noise like he was drowning. The hole sealed itself back up in the blink of an eye and then Connor was turning away from Hank’s embrace, tailfin moving like a sidewinder in the sand, clearly distressed.

“I have to go, Hank,” he’d said, voice tremulous and sad despite how well things had been going prior. Hank could still taste ocean salt and ozone on his mouth. “I’m sorry you—had to see that.”

Hank blinked, unsure of what it was he’d even seen. “Connor,” he tried, reaching out for Connor’s arm, but it was too late. Faster than quicksilver, Connor was back in the water and throwing himself into the breakers, and with a flash of that shimmering tail he was gone.

Doing his best to put fear from his mind, Hank keeps busy over the next week. Mends broken fence, adds to his brick path leading down to the beach, and tends the flower boxes. Washes and dries every dish in the cottage, only two of each even if he lives alone. It doesn’t hurt to be hopeful.

On the ninth day Hank’s sitting on his deck, idly whittling at a piece of driftwood with his knife when he sees a flash of azure in the corner of his eye. The ocean may be blue, but nothing is quite as blue as the iridescent scales on Connor’s lower half. Hank stands, squinting hard at the water, and waits. He thinks his week of pathetic pining may have finally drawn him to the edge of madness, but then a familiar pale figure emerges from the surf and only manages to crawl up from the lapping tide before he slumps over on the beach.

Hank is running before he knows the impulse overtook him, kicking sand as he goes. “Connor?” he shouts, throwing his knife to the side where he’ll probably never find it again, but it’s better than falling on his own blade while he stumbles down the cove. “Jesus Christ—Connor!”

Hank drops to his knees in the powdery sand and leans over, almost afraid to touch. Connor lifts his head and smiles weakly, happy to see Hank even if he looks terribly exhausted. “I’m so glad you’re here, Hank,” he says, and turns over to curl on his side with some effort. “I knew I had to come back after…”   
  
Whatever else he says, Hank doesn’t quite hear over the crash of the waves and the blood pounding in his ears. He stares down at Connor’s normally flat belly, toned enough to rest a dinner plate on, and finds it soft and round, heavy with something as if he’d fallen preg—

“Oh my God,” Hank rasps, falling back on his ass next to Connor. He watches as one of Connor’s webbed hands comes up to splay over his own belly, gentle but protective. “Are those? Are you?”

“Yes,” Connor says softly, eyes slipping shut. His other hand reaches out, cool fingers brushing Hank’s leg. “I swam a long way to come back to you. I’m tired, but it was worth the journey.”

Hank rakes a hand through his hair, confused and overwhelmed. He can’t tear his eyes away from Connor’s taut belly, though, especially when it seems to shift some beneath his hand.

“I’ve been worried sick, Con,” he says, laughing despite himself. “I don’t think I understand why you came back if you’re—in whatever condition this is.” God knows he’s never seen Connor like this. “It seems…dangerous.”

“Maybe it was,” Connor agrees, sounding sad again, and when he gazes up at Hank his eyes shine like amber sea glass. “I was hoping you’d be able to help me. It wasn’t until I’d left that I realized what it was I wanted. What—I needed.”

Hank can’t help but indulge himself when his chest tightens and he watches as his own hand reaches out to push back the damp curl of hair on Connor’s forehead, tender as an old lover. This is so unbelievably fucking strange, even now, but he’d sooner cut off his own thumb than leave Connor alone or unattended, especially when he’s in this condition.

Connor’s wet lashes dip and lower against his cheeks at Hank’s touch, his whole body trembling. He bites into his lip to try and swallow back some low, primal sound deep in his throat, and Hank goes quite still when he sees that slit at the base of Connor’s abdomen flare open again below the contour of his belly.

“Connor,” he says carefully, fingers still gently petting around Connor’s temples where a stray scale or two shine in the sunlight. He already knows but he needs to ask, has to be sure. “What is it you need? Tell me, sweetheart.”

Panting some, Connor shudders again as that strange hole glistens and contracts, whimpering as he pushes his face into Hank’s palm like the contact alone is soothing. “I need you to fill me,” he says. “I wanted it to be you, and it’s time. I can’t wait much longer.”

Hank’s mouth goes dry and his vision dances in front of his eyes. It takes a long moment before he realizes he’s lightheaded because all his blood rushed straight to his cock.   
  
Fuck.

Breath coming slightly faster now, he slides down in the sand until he’s lying next to Connor. Their eyes meet, and Hank swallows.   
  
“Can I touch you there?” he asks, careful as he slides a hand down Connor’s side, feeling his heart skip when his thumb caresses his swollen belly.

“Please, Hank,” Connor gasps, trying to curve closer into Hank’s arms. “Please.”  
  
The surreal haze of this moment is chased away by the sea wind and sun on Hank's skin, and then Connor's sweet, delightful sound when his finger dips into that warm little slit under his belly.

There’s no resistance as Hank’s finger sinks all the way into that wet, spongy heat. It’s a little bit dizzying; there seems to be no end to the hole’s depths. He twists his finger back toward Connor’s abdomen, gently, and the mer shudders and cries out.

Maybe Hank had made a foolish assumption about whatever parts Connor was keeping there in his little secret hole, but his best guess is dashed on the rocks when something wriggling and hot inside Connor’s body wraps around his finger and pulls, hard.

It doesn’t hurt, but Hank lets out a sound of surprise and Connor is all but rutting up against him now, desperate to have more of Hank inside. The gills on his neck seal up when he’s on land but they flutter now as he pants oxygen, flushed opalescent and brilliant in the sunlight.

“Need you inside,” Connor gasps, tailfin trying to intertwine with Hank’s legs. Hank pulls his finger from the hole and takes Connor’s face to kiss him, slow, steadying. It seems to have the needed effect because Connor draws in another breath, brown eyes flicking up to meet blue.

“Tell me how this works,” Hank says. He tries to find the words despite how hard he is, how wild this is. “Will they—are they going to…grow? Even if I’m me and…you’re you?” It’s not the most eloquent or intelligent way of saying things, but Connor seems to understand him all the same.

“I don’t know,” he whispers back, raspy voice sounding hopeful and a little bit afraid. “I don’t want to lose them, but they can’t—I can’t let them go until you fill me.” There’s a pause, and then Connor presses his forehead against Hank’s. “I’ve never loved a human before.”

That makes Hank see stars even at the peak of day.   
  
“You’re sure you want this?” he croaks, petting down Connor’s neck and back. “With me?” He laughs, winded, and wonders if this is all a fever dream, some synaptic misfire in his brain from sunstroke. “I don’t know if I’m father of the year material anymore.”

“You are nothing but wonderful, my kind, strong, beautiful Hank,” Connor says, kissing next to his nose. Hank flushes scarlet but smiles despite himself. “I wouldn’t have come back to you with my brood if I didn’t want this with everything that I am.”

“Okay,” Hank says, given in, hopelessly lost and somehow found again whenever it comes to Connor, who isn’t even fully human but that matters fuck-all to him anymore. He stopped caring a long time ago. “Alright, baby, let me help you.”

The cove is empty except for the water and the wind. Sumo is sleeping inside and even the shorebirds are resting, chattering with each other among a distant spray of rocks. Hank was never much of one for sex on the beach, but there’s a first time for everything in life.

“How do you want to…?” he asks, feeling his cock shift against his thigh as he moves. Small grace of graces, he’d gone without underwear today and when he goes to pull himself out of his shorts Connor is quick to take him in hand, just as intrigued as Hank had been with his hole.

“So soft,” Connor says with awe in his voice, testing Hank's weight in his hand. The slight webbing between his fingers doesn’t feel bad, just—different. Hank groans anyway when the tip of his cock grazes the scales low on Connor’s abdomen and that little slit flares open again.

Connor’s soft, round belly isn’t quite as big as a pregnant human’s, but it’s enough to pose a small obstacle if they aren’t careful. Hank presses against it, gently, and feels it give and move under his touch. Not hard, but clearly full of something vaguely jellylike, membranous. Connor groans low and deep, something primal and unheard by most human ears. His belly draws up, almost painfully, and then he twists his tail around so it's draped across Hank's groin while they embrace in the sand.  
  
"Hank," he moans. "I need you now."

Connor's weight is heavy but not stifling, and his hole is right there, open and waiting. All Hank has to do is take himself in hand and push inside, and after a grounding breath that burns his lungs, that’s exactly what he does.

The slick, wet heat is so good he almost cries. The full length of his cock disappears into Connor's hole all at once and slips right into the tight passage inside like it'd been made to fit. Connor cries out too and wriggles, grasping at Hank's shoulder, already begging him for more.

"Come here," Hank grunts, pulling Connor fully into his arms, breathing be damned. Now that their chests are flush and most of Connor's tail is draped in the sand, he fucks himself down on Hank's cock, damp skin sliding against slick scales as they rut together without grace.

Hank's never been so deep inside anybody before, never had his cock taken right up to the very hilt. His mind swims through the sheer pleasure of it, unable to focus, and then that same twisting appendage wraps around his length and tugs at him from the inside of Connor's body.

His hips buck at the maddening sensation of it, even with Connor writhing around on top of him. Stroked from the inside as Connor’s own sheathed cock guides him to where it needs to go into that tight, slimy sieve.

“Fuck,” Hank hisses, doing his damndest to thrust up into Connor’s hole even where he lays. He’s never felt anything so perfect.  
  
Connor whines high in his throat and then makes a different feral, throaty, drowning sound when Hank’s cockhead finally nestles at the end of his passage. Hank tries to thrust back out again but it’s no use—he’s held in place, stuck, being milked for all he’s worth. Connor’s relentless, gone animalistic now, shaking like he’s dying in Hank’s arms.

“H-Hank,” Connor pants above him, elbows in the sand on either side of Hank’s face. He’s beautiful, strange and ethereal, like some kind of finned angel pulled from the sea. “Please. I need—I need…you to.”

Hank swears under his breath, close, so fucking close and yet so far. “Need me to what?” he croaks, mouthing along the flaps at Connor’s throat that taste of seawater. “Tell me, Con.”

Connor’s cock-thing squeezes him like a vice and Hank’s vision blurs out some at the edges, so hard now he scarcely remembers to breathe.   
  
“Fill me up,” Connor sobs, wet and broken. “Give me my babies.”

When Hank feels his balls draw up all he can do is wrap his arms around Connor’s middle and groan, holding on. He shudders as he comes, cock pulsing deep inside that hot channel while Connor’s appendage strokes it from base to tip, squeezing every ounce of spend from him.

Connor cries out again at the sensation of being filled at last, awash with stark, primitive relief. He waits until Hank’s cock stops twitching and then the appendage releases him and gently slips away, the silken heat in Connor’s body intensified even as the passage unfurls and relaxes around Hank’s length

They lay in the soft sand with the water lapping at Connor’s tailfin, breathing hard, still slumped together. Connor feels boneless in Hank’s arms, weakly mouthing somewhere at his shoulder while something warm-wet and sticky leaks from his hole, slowly oozing around Hank’s cock.

When Hank’s spent cock finally slips free, something small and round comes out with it alongside a rush of slimy slick, falling onto Hank’s belly before they roll into the sand. Like pale, satin-pink pearls the size of shooter marbles. Glistening and almost transparent in the daylight.

Connor’s belly tightens again despite how sated he is, sleepy features full of adoration and love. “Thank you, Hank,” he whispers, nuzzling at Hank’s throat, and then shivers as his body relaxes and lets nature take its course. Connor mewls softly in something like surprise as the first clutch of eggs is pushed out without much effort, then shakes against Hank as they just keep coming.

“Oh,” Connor says, shuddering with the pleasurable relief of it, finally able to let go as his pouch empties, his mission finally fulfilled.   
  
Hank is so fucked out he almost doesn’t know what’s happening at first. It would be easy to retch in horror and shove Connor away, but it’s somehow even easier to hold him while it happens, patiently waiting while Connor’s body pushes more spawn out onto the beach. It’s weirdly intimate in a way, even if it’s gross—all their fluids mixed together, Connor’s eggs coated in his milky release as they finally tumble free.

“Sh, shh,” Hank says, running a soothing hand up and down Connor’s trembling back even while mer eggs spill out into his lap, all of it warm and smelling faintly of clean brine. There’s so many, he never would’ve imagined how much was in Connor’s belly—but it doesn’t seem to stop until it finally does, and Connor’s hole closes back up, just a thin slit there set into his smooth scales.

Some of the eggs have rolled down to the water, already taken back out to sea. Connor carefully moves the others to the side before he rolls off Hank, looking wistful as he stares across the surf. Regal and strangely gorgeous, surrounded by his spawn.

“I need to keep them somewhere safe,” he says, looking back at Hank. “Just—just in case they may grow.”   
  
And that’s how Hank tucks himself back into his shorts but strips his cotton shirt off, using it as a makeshift sling as he and Connor carefully tuck the precious eggs inside. He carries it down to the rock pool further down the cove, a little hidden grotto set back away from the water.

Connor watches as Hank gently sets the clutch down in the pool, letting the eggs drift to the bottom among the sea-smoothed stones, beautiful as lost treasures.

Connor will keep watch over them for a few days to look for any sign of change, he says. Hank's heart thumps at the shy, wanting hopefulness in his voice, like he so desperately wants these babies to form and grow.

Now, outside the fugue of passion, Hank feels the peculiar tug of yearning, too. There's beauty in having made something, he thinks. To have been a part of a whole.   
  
For now, he holds Connor close and kisses his hair. Thinks back to what Connor had said about love and smiles. "Funny you've never loved a human before," he says, and isn't expecting Connor's wide-eyed and starry look when he peers up into Hank's face. "I've never loved a big talking fish before, either. Until now."

Connor wrinkles his nose at that, gills flaring as he lets out a tiny laugh. He tucks himself up under Hank's chin while he watches the rock pool and his babies, content and shining.   
  
Hank's life on his little parcel of cove may be far from ordinary, but it's not too far from perfect.  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I, still unfortunately possessed by the horny mermaid demon, hashed out some MerHank AND MerConnor uhhhh making (1) merbaby Cole. Kinda-sorta inspired by [this artwork on twitter.](https://twitter.com/Siberia_125/status/1137390738331713536) I was without wifi for four days this past weekend and may have temporarily lost my shit for a minute there, and so this happened, but I'm too embarrassed to post a whole new work for it lol. 
> 
> It's still soft and romantical, but PLEASE heed the new content warnings: breeding kink stuff, cervical penetration (there’s ~magic so it doesn’t hurt), intersex mermaid anatomy for both parties, excess bodily fluids, my sappy writing, and no eggies just a live baby & birth this time.

  
The coastal waters are as balmy and warm as bathwater in late summer around the island’s hidden cove. Connor returns from the deeper ocean like clockwork and waits near their grotto, as he always does, for Hank to arrive. It’s been several years since they last met here, though they’ve made the same swim to find each other in this place dozens of times before.

Rough waves and typhoon weather had long since ruined his nesting nook from the decade before, though Connor still feels like he’s returned home as he busies himself with tidying the small cave. It’s only when he goes out to the reef to hunt and forage for a meal that evening before dusk that he senses a familiar presence in the water. The smaller fish and sea creatures dart out of sight and even the spotted octopus tucks herself away under a rock, and even though the newcomer cost Connor his meal, he opens his hands and offers up four more freshly-caught fish instead.

Hank is just as handsome as ever, iridescent fins flared out around his wide back and shoulders. There’s a touch more silver in his hair and beard and he’s collected more scars than Connor remembers from before, deep lacerations cut into the muscle of his arms and chest like he’d been tangled in a net or bound by some ugly creature intent on ending him. They’re crude, painful-looking things, and Connor wants to ask around the phantom fear lodged in his throat but Hank quiets him with a kiss for now.

“Later,” he promises, and helps Connor stow their meal away for safekeeping before drawing him close in the water. “Come dance with me.”

Their courtship is beautiful and elaborate, a partnered ritual performed beneath the rolling waves. They both know it’s nothing more than an old formality now after so many years, done more out of playful habit than any real necessity—an indulgent echo that brings to mind the thrill of the chase. Connor leads them back toward the cove’s shoreline and Hank follows as they near the surface, the last rays of weak-tea sunlight dappling down across their scaled fins and skin through cerulean water.

Under cover of the grotto’s cool walls Connor pulls himself from the water and sprawls out on the bed of dry kelp and seaweed he’d fashioned on a layer of powdery sand. Hank joins him soon thereafter, the muscles in his thick forearms flexing as he hauls his dripping body and tail from the rock pool. His eyes sparkle even in the shadowed light when he catches sight of the few pearlescent shells and smooth stones scattered around the edges of the kelp bed.

“You’ve made a nest,” he tells Connor, reaching for him again with an affectionate laugh rumbling low in his chest. “For me?”

“For us,” Connor says, so content his whole body thrums with it, and sighs as he lays back and beckons Hank into his open arms.

Their tails twine together like two serpents and the feeling of Hank’s scales flush against his own makes Connor shiver as his slit relaxes and flares open just the barest bit in anticipation. Hank nips at his bottom lip as his hand travels low between them, warm fingers teasing around the slick edge of the hole there before gently dipping into the wet, briny heat of Connor’s body.

It’s a familiar and tender exploration, one Connor is already eager to return in kind. He slides his palms down over the fine and scarred swell of Hank’s gut until his fingertips brush the concealed slit there. Hank swears low under his breath but accepts Connor’s fingers into his body where something hot and hard is lying in wait, the tip deceivingly soft to the touch. Connor strokes it and smiles as Hank stutters out a soft gasp against his mouth, and then without much resistance his heavy cock slips free from his hole and slides into the palm of Connor’s waiting hand.

Having waited long enough for this moment, Connor wastes no time in taking Hank’s slick member and guiding it to the entrance low on his abdomen. They both tremble with excitement when their sexes brush together, Hank slowly pressing into the slippery wetness of Connor’s hole while the moon rises above the sea outside. There’s nothing but the sound of the lapping waves and Connor’s sweet gasp as Hank hooks a forearm around his tailfin and roughly pulls his lover onto his cock.

They lock together so seamlessly, perfect every time. That long, wriggling appendage slides into the tight passage below Connor’s own sheathed cock and glides against it through the thin membrane separating them while Hank fucks him, stimulating both components of his sex in beautiful tandem. Connor claws fresh welts up Hank’s back and muffles his cries in the crook of his shoulder while his hardening cock tries to slip out but can’t around the force of Hank rutting into his body.

Despite his arousal, the longer their lovemaking goes on the more Connor relaxes. Eventually Hank’s brutal pace mellows into something gentler while they kiss and touch, Connor’s fingers gone to explore all the scars he’s never seen or felt before. His body unfurls beneath Hank’s like an opening anemone and eventually, when the moment is right, he feels Hank’s cockhead touch the deepest place inside him.

It sends a flicker of electricity up Connor’s spine, and even through the drape of moonlit nightfall he sees starbursts wheel in front of his eyes. Hank feels it too, nipping a toothy kiss at the hinge of Connor’s jaw as he smiles.

The long cock already throbbing in his hole nudges against the entrance of Connor’s womb again—harder this time—and it begins to hurt now, just the barest ghost of a cramp deep in his belly. But then there’s a thick gush of warm, sticky fluid and a low moan from Hank, who doesn’t quit rutting against him even for a moment. So much of it fills Connor’s passage that it leaks from the edges of his hole and seeps around Hank’s pelvic scales, but the feeling of it is blissful, warm and soothing, and he feels his body relax even more, cervix beginning to soften and open itself under Hank’s attention. There’s no more pain, and it won’t be long now.

“So tight, baby,” Hank says in a rough whisper, petting Connor’s curls back as he mouths the words at his temple. “Just a little more—almost there. I know you can let me in.”

Connor nods, dazed by the balmy burn of pleasure inside him, the feeling of Hank’s thick shaft nosing into the barrier at the end of his passage. The tissue grows laxer by the second, and with one last purposeful thrust Hank jams his cockhead directly into the tender opening of Connor’s womb.

He whines, high and loud and broken, when he feels himself finally fully penetrated. Squirms under Hank’s bulk as his abdomen contracts once, and then all the taut muscles unravel at once as instinct takes hold and Connor lets himself be held in Hank’s arms as that long cock probes ever deeper, intent on breeding him full of their baby.

“Oh, Hank,” he murmurs, foggy-headed with love and lust and endorphins coursing through him like a second pulse. Hank only nods, somewhere beyond words now, and draws Connor close against his chest when his cock begins to swell. His peak hits them both like a riptide wave, so strong it knocks the wind from Connor’s lungs and nearly pulls him under when he feels that rush of scalding seed fill him up to the very brim. His eyes roll back with pleasure and Hank pumps into him again and again, cock pulsing out enough spend to father a hundred of their children instead of just one.

It’s pure ecstasy, and Connor cries out as his womb accepts everything Hank gives him, overflowing enough that this, too, oozes out between them around the base of Hank’s girth and into the ruined kelp bed. They pant oxygen they don’t truly need and hold each other through the rippling aftershock of it, Hank’s softening cock finally slipping out of Connor’s womb with a gentle _pop_ that he feels inside.

Spent and soaked with their fluids, the appendage finally withdraws from the gaping slit on Connor’s groin and brings a flood of slime and Hank’s come with it, gushing out more as Connor’s passage contracts and expels most of the natural softening lubricant from his body. He gasps and mewls with each spasm, held tenderly against Hank’s strong chest, and already knows that they’ve made their baby. The warmth of it hums inside him, a golden-bright sense of fullness, as round and vivid as the moon itself.

“Next time you’re carrying the child,” he tells Hank matter-of-factly, even if it comes out in a breathless whisper. “A big belly is so much more becoming on you.”

“Maybe I beg to differ,” Hank murmurs as he presses a kiss into Connor’s hair, softly amused, but then nods anyway as he curls around his mate to protect him through the rest of their time together. “I look forward to it.”  
  


* * *  
  
  


Connor’s flat belly grows large and round over the next several months, seemingly bigger with every passing day. They stay in the warm, sapphire-bright waters around the island cove and don’t stray too far, especially as summer gives way to autumn. Hank hunts daily even when Connor has to stay behind, sunning himself among the rocks while sandpiper birds chase each other through the surf. He feels the tiny merbaby stirring inside him as it grows and wonders about how its scales may shimmer in the sun, if they’ll be like Hank’s or smooth and silvery blue like his own.

Other merfolk have always returned to their nests and borne their children alone. More for safety or sanctity, Connor doesn’t quite know—that’s simply always been the way it’s been done by everybody but himself for as long as he can remember. But he takes pride in having his mate be there to help raise their child, and knows that Hank feels the same. More than that, he loves him, so deeply, and wouldn’t want him anywhere else but here at his side when the baby comes.

When the baby is ready to arrive and Connor has concealed himself away in the grotto again, Hank is there and lingering at the edge of the rock pool, watching onward and tracing a cool stone around Connor’s temple from time to time. He murmurs gentle words of encouragement but tries not to interfere, knowing full well that they both have to let nature take its inevitable course.

Connor’s body and tailfin tremble and heave through the building contractions, and he breathes deeply as his stomach tightens and the time draws nearer. It’s not so much an agony as a pang of the world’s oldest discomfort, bringing pearlescent, salty tears to the corners of his eyes that gather but don’t fall. When he feels the baby coming he reaches down and gently coaxes it from his body, head first and then the shoulders after another steady push, curled on his side so he can watch his and Hank’s child finally tumble forth into his waiting hands.

The little babe gives a short cry and Hank smiles, already rapt with adoration, reaching out to touch the child’s dark head. Its tailfin is slick but perfect, a beautiful golden shade striped with darts of azure scales. Connor brings the baby up close to his chest and kisses its forehead before cleaning it off with dry kelp and a sea sponge he’d saved, blearily grinning up at Hank with love in his eyes.

Hank severs the cord binding them together with a sharp stone and carefully ties the newborn’s navel off with a length of tattered silk ribbon they found floating above a sunken ship many years ago. The baby lets out a keen but then goes quiet, blinking wide, blue eyes up at his parents.

“What should we name him?” Connor asks as Hank leans in for a kiss, twisting a fingertip through the curls already drying at the crown of the child’s head.

Hank studies the baby’s tiny face, then wets his fingertips with saltwater to press a reverent thumb at his forehead in a silent christening of sorts. Asks for strength and a long life for his and Connor’s child, and hopes that it will be granted.

“Cole,” he says, and Connor’s eyes brighten when he hears it, taking the name into his mouth to repeat it again.

“Cole,” he says, nuzzling the top of the baby’s head, and then nods. “Perfect.”

The day is still young and bright outside but Hank leaves his new little family for a spell, just long enough to crack open an oyster he finds half-buried among the shallower water at the rocks. The air is quiet and serene save for the chattering shore birds and he brings back his prize, folding it into Connor’s palm while he feeds the baby.

Connor brings the blue-green pearl to his lips and holds it there, smiling until the corners of his eyes draw into faint crinkles.

“A gift for a gift,” Hank says, pressing their foreheads together with Cole cradled between them.

The ocean awaits them, but for now Connor is content to stay still with his new family, here in the safety of their hidden cove.  
  
  
  



End file.
